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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23534452">The Passing of Summer Places</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse_archive'>nekosmuse_archive (nekosmuse)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Lost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adaptation, Developing Relationship, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:08:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,469</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23534452</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekosmuse/pseuds/nekosmuse_archive</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Written pre 2005. Posted for archival purposes.</p>
<p>Time passes too quickly for some.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sayid Jarrah/Charlie Pace</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Passing of Summer Places</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The scent of jet fuel still hangs in the air.</p>
<p>It covers everything, clinging to him like a second skin.  He can feel it in his hair, in his lungs, and he's fairly certain it's probably made its way into his bloodstream.  It leaves him feeling dirty, suffocated.</p>
<p>The smoke cleared three days ago, vanishing into the air, tiny particles merging with the atmosphere, reflecting the sunlight until the entire island was bathed in haze.  It dissipates a little each day; tonight is the first time he's had a clear view of the stars in longer than he can remember.  It's nice, cleansing in a way he knows he'll never actually feel.</p>
<p>He shifts a little on the sand, feeling it spill down the back of his shirt, settling against the small of his back.  It itches and, for a moment, he's tempted to stand, dive into the ocean and rinse it away.  He doesn't; he knows it's a never-ending cycle and regardless of how hard he tries, come morning the sand will once again find its way into every corner of his tattered clothes.  It's worse than the ash of burning wreckage.</p>
<p>"You not tired?"</p>
<p>Charlie looks strange, silhouetted by the light of the fire, looming above Sayid and he seems too far away for the words to have carried.</p>
<p>"Couldn't sleep," Sayid replies, pushing himself up onto his elbows and glancing over at a precariously placed plane wing.  "It's the smell," he continues, feeling the need to explain.</p>
<p>"It's getting better," Charlie comments as he sinks down into the sand to sit cross-legged at Sayid's side.</p>
<p>"Yeah."</p>
<p>The survivors don't interact often.  Mostly they keep to themselves, banding together only when it's warranted by necessity.  He's spoken to Charlie a handful of times, more than all the others combined, and he thinks maybe it's because he trusts Charlie.  Charlie hasn't accused him of anything.  Charlie hasn't looked at him like he expects Sayid to pull a scud missile out of his pocket at any given moment.</p>
<p>"I guess you were right," Charlie comments, fiddling with the tape around his fingers and Sayid considers asking him what they're for.</p>
<p>He doesn't, though, mostly because it's not really his business, but also because he doesn't really care.</p>
<p>"About?" he asks instead, trying to figure out what Charlie's talking about.</p>
<p>"Them not coming," Charlie replies, shivering a little and it takes Sayid a moment to realize the temperature has dropped.</p>
<p>"They'll come," he lies, partly for Charlie's benefit, partly for his own.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>The days have started blending together.</p>
<p>He's not sure when it happened; at first he'd been able to count out each day, he knew a Monday from a Friday, he knew the thirteenth from the twenty-third, now it's all the same.  Now he only knows days from nights, rain from sun and heat from cold.  It's quite possibly the most basic existence he's ever experienced.</p>
<p>He knows someone's watching him long before he turns around.  He can feel eyes prickling against the back of his neck, boring into his soul until he practically twitches.  He always feels like he's being watched, but this is different.  This is measured, the weight of it forcing him to glance over his shoulder, sweep his gaze across the line of beach behind him.</p>
<p>It doesn't surprise him when Charlie ducks his head, bending back down to finish whatever it is he's doing.  It's not the first time Sayid's caught him watching and he's starting to think he might need to reassess his opinion of Charlie.  Except Charlie's gaze is more curious than accusing, like he's just watching for the sake of watching and doesn't really understand it himself.  It's puzzling and Sayid finds himself frowning.</p>
<p>He finishes stacking his latest pile of wood, three rows deep now and it's still only enough to last them a few days.  Somewhere along the way the group started working in harmony.  It was never spoken, chores were never given out and no one dictated how best they could survive.  It just happened: people building shelters, people collected food and firewood while others gathering medical supplies, until eventually the beach felt more like a military camp than a disaster site.</p>
<p>Wiping his hands on his pants, Sayid crosses the beach, the sand warm and soft beneath his toes.  He finds Charlie against the tree line, several feet from where he was when Sayid first turned around.  He's stripping vines, creating long lines of makeshift rope and Sayid has to clear his throat before Charlie looks up.</p>
<p>Charlie's tremors have subsided, so much so they're barely noticeable now.  As far as Sayid knows, only himself and Jack are aware of their origin.  Charlie came to him first; pale and shaking, sweat beading against his skin until he practically glowed.  Sayid had seen withdrawal before, knew it for what it was and despite Charlie's protests, he eventually managed to convince the other man to talk to Jack.  Not that Jack was much help, but he was a doctor, so he was better than anything Sayid could have done on his own.</p>
<p>Charlie's still staring at him, head tilted to the side like he's looking for something.  Sayid clears his throat for a second time before speaking and suddenly understands why he always feels Charlie's gaze.  Light, intense eyes stare up at him, stripping him bare until Sayid's certain Charlie knows all his deepest secrets.</p>
<p>"I was going to head inland, refill some of our fresh water supply.  You feel like taking a walk?" Sayid asks.</p>
<p>Technically they have enough water to last out the week, but there's only so long he can keep himself busy on the beach so a change of scenery seems somehow appropriate.  It still doesn't explain why he felt the need to invite Charlie along.</p>
<p>"Yeah, sure," Charlie replies, dropping what he's doing and offering Sayid a lopsided grin.  Sayid thinks it looks good on him.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>They ran out of rations days ago.</p>
<p>It's made eating a luxury, something they don't do often and when they do manage to find food, it's usually fish or the occasional game they find wandering the island.  And birds, he's eaten more birds than he's ever wanted to.  They've all lost weight, their clothes hanging off them and Sayid's half afraid one day they'll all just waste away.  Charlie's worst than most; three days of withdrawal induced nausea leaving him practically a rail. </p>
<p>Sayid worries.  He can't even pinpoint why, except he does and so he's started giving Charlie half of his food.  It means spending the majority of the time hungry, but his stomach's starting to shrink, so it doesn't bother him much anymore.  Besides, hearing Charlie call him disciplined fills him with a weird sense of pride.  He sort of likes it.</p>
<p>"Do you think they're even still looking for us?" Charlie asks.  It's the first thing he's said in what seems like hours and Sayid finds himself glancing at Charlie's profile before answering.</p>
<p>"Probably," Sayid replies, but he knows it's not true.  It's been well over two months and he's fairly certain they've been given up as dead.</p>
<p>Charlie doesn't comment, shifting a little closer, pressing his shoulder against Sayid's and staring out over the water.  It's barely visible at night, but Sayid can hear it, crashing against the rocks until he's half afraid it might just creep up the beach, drag them all out to sea.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Sometime over the past week, he found himself sharing a shelter with Charlie.</p>
<p>He's not certain when, or even why they made the transition from occasional companions who shared chores or sat together by the fire to marooned roommates.  Still, it's nice in a way Sayid doesn't like to question.</p>
<p>At night they huddle together, sharing warmth, their backs pressed together as the jungle breathes around them.  And sometimes, when he thinks the forest is going to crash in around them, swallow them whole, they stay awake, talking about family and home and all the things they left behind.</p>
<p>Charlie tells stories about his band, some funny, some personal and some just mundane.  Sayid tells Charlie about the desert, about the war and the last time he saw his sister.  They laugh, or sit in silence, or play games no one but them will ever understand.</p>
<p>And sometimes, when reality crashes down around them and it becomes too much to bear, they curl around one another, resting like two spoons in a drawer as they stare out the entrance of the shelter and into the night.</p>
<p>He's starting to like spending all his time with Charlie.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Four days ago it started raining.</p>
<p>It hasn't stopped since, pelting down on the island until everything is damp.  The birds are gone, as are the fish, and they've resorted to eating bugs.  It's only mildly unpleasant.  Sayid's experienced worse, but there are only so many grubs and snails he can stomach before his body starts to protest.  He's been sick for almost twenty-four hours.</p>
<p>Jack's seen him twice, telling him it's just some form of flu, likely something no one has ever heard of.  It doesn't make him feel any better and he's starting to worry this might actually kill him.  Charlie hasn't really left his side, even when Sayid threatened bodily harm if he didn't leave --Charlie can be amazingly stubborn sometimes.  He doesn't comment on Sayid's mood, or even the possibility of Sayid's imminent death.  He just sits there prattling on about Allah only knows what until Sayid's forced to physically kick him out of the shelter.</p>
<p>The only time he ever gets any rest is when Charlie's gone.  Not that it matters, sleep is sparse and fitful and every time he wakes, Charlie's back and Sayid has to go to the trouble of kicking him outside all over again.  He gives up on the fourth time, waking to find Charlie curled around his body, his arm draped over Sayid's stomach.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>Somewhere along the way their relationship shifted.</p>
<p>There were no warning signs.  No bright detours marked out for him to avoid.  It just happened.  One moment he was staring out at rain he didn't think would ever stop, and the next he was wrapped around Charlie, fingers sliding through Charlie's hair, lips marking a path along Charlie's skin and their bodies colliding together until they were both spent and panting.</p>
<p>Once became twice, and twice became a dozen times, and now he's lost count.  It's like the days in a way, everything becoming one, an existence that seems more natural to him now than a life he can no longer remember. </p>
<p>And Charlie still panics sometimes, still looks for a bag that isn't there.  And Sayid still distracts him with sex, still lets Charlie trace pictures against his skin with invisible ink when the sex isn't enough.  They've carved out some kind of life and Sayid knows it's only a matter of time before someone comes along and snatches it all away.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>He expected hope but all he feels is despair.</p>
<p>A sense of loss and overwhelming sadness that seems to last an eternity.  It lingers as he watches the ship inch its way closer.  It wraps around him as they lower lifeboats, tightening its grip as the boats skate across the water, approaching land.  He's half afraid he might suffocate from it.  By the time he's actually on the boat, huddled against Charlie's side, it's taken up permanent residence in his bones.</p>
<p>He knows the others feel it.  It hangs heavy in the air, a sense of abandonment, the fear of the unknown and the terror of returning to lives that have moved on without them.  But it's more than that, after this they'll go home, leaving behind the only other humans they've known for longer than a year.</p>
<p>It's almost a shame they wouldn't let him stay.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>America is nothing like he imagined.</p>
<p>It's nothing like home either, but he knows now he can never go back.  It'll never be the same and he'll never feel the welcome he was looking for.  At least here he can carve out a new life.</p>
<p>He's spoken to Charlie, several times over the past few months, but it doesn't ease the sting of not seeing him.  He thinks it might be for the best, he has a feeling nothing will ever be the same again, not even them.  Besides, moving forward means cutting ties to the past, and those ties include Charlie.  It doesn't hurt any less.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>He still hates flying.  Still clutches the arm rests like they're the only thing keeping the plane in the air.  He still gets nauseous at ever turn, finds himself sweating anytime they encounter turbulence.  He tells himself he'll get over it, that he's perfectly safe.  He doesn't come anywhere near believing it.</p>
<p>He's not sure why they chose this location.  He thinks it's because it offers all the frail beauty of a tropical island, all the solitude and sights that exist now only in memory.  Except here there are hotels, other people, grocery stores and running cars.  It's nothing like that place he left what seems a lifetime ago.</p>
<p>Still, it feels good to be on solid ground again.  The airport looms behind him, the sound of roaring planes making him tense, terrified.  Post traumatic stress syndrome, or so they say.  They're all being treated for it, still to this day and Sayid thinks it's strange.  No one treated him after the war.  No one cared that he'd seen men, his friends and brothers, die around him.  Things are different in America.</p>
<p>He's halfway to hailing a cab when a familiar voice echoes behind him.  Part of him wants to ignore it, but the very thought of walking away after all this time leaves him shaking, so he turns around.  Charlie looks nothing like he did when they left that island.  He's filled out, his hair clean and his clothes new.  But when he smiles, all those nights nestled inside that shelter come rushing back and Sayid finds himself grinning.</p>
<p>~*~</p>
<p>He's not certain why he was dreading this, or even why they didn't do it sooner.  Nothing has changed, at least, nothing that matters.  Because Charlie still clings to him, tracing patterns against Sayid's skin.  And Charlie still tastes like Charlie, underlined with soap instead of salt.  And when Sayid buries his face in Charlie's neck, coming deep inside him, Charlie still calls out Sayid's name, saying it like the Christian prayers Sayid's never fully understood.</p>
<p>And when their impromptu reunion ends and Charlie mentions something about England, Sayid nods and starts thinking about how long it'll take him to immigrate.  Home may be a long ways off, but Sayid's starting to get that home isn't always a location on a map.</p>
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